Day 5: Kansas and Missouri

February 8, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard3 Comments

Editor’s note: Given limited travel opportunities these days, I decided each Thursday to post travel stories I’d written prior to starting this blog. The following is from a cross-country trip I made along the length of US 50 in the spring of 2018. I hope you might vicariously enjoy this trip while we’re all hunkering down at home. Because this is a longer trip (a week and a half), I’m going to post each of the daily entries over each of the next 10 days.

Here’s a picture of the first grain elevator I saw this morning, heading east out of Larkin, KS:

And here’s a picture of the second grain elevator I saw:

Now, multiply those pictures by 100, and you get a sense of the scenery along US 50 through Kansas. Seriously. It’s flat, with lots of open space and no trees, and periodic, looming grain elevators. I suppose there’s some kind of charm to the monotony. But monotonous it was.

Breakfast was at Richie’s Café in Cimmaron. I was craving a good cup of strong, fresh-brewed, artisan coffee, a toasted bagel and cream cheese, and some good juice. The outside of the place didn’t look promising, but it was the only game in town. I entered the double doors, and found myself in a small, dark anteroom with another set of double doors. These I opened, and stepped into a large, windowless auditorium with ancient wood flooring. It looked like the place where the Peanuts put on their Christmas pageant in “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” In the middle of the room were rows of long tables surrounded by folding chairs. A group of about eight people, all of retirement age and none with a healthy body mass index, where chatting over coffee and a couple of empty plates. They evidently had been there awhile. The waitress (if that’s the correct term) brought me a menu, which I searched in vain for my artisan coffee and bagel and juice. I had to settle for a greasy breakfast taco. I was back in the Yaris and on the road within 10 minutes.

I suppose it’s fair to say that there wasn’t a lot notable about Kansas. I was looking forward to Dodge City (pop: 27,000), which is on my route, but just about all traces of the old west there are contained in museums or reconstructed facsimiles. It felt too touristy for this trip. I did stop at a grocery store in the town of Meridian (pop: 813). You haven’t truly heard laughter until you’ve asked a Kansan if they have Naked Juice.

Oh, I also made a stop to check out an old 19^th century stone arch bridge in the town of Clements (pop: 0). The bridge crosses the Cottonwood River in an idyllic setting. I think I may have walked through poison ivy to take the photo, so I hope you appreciate it!

So, that’s about it for Kansas. After I got to Emporia, US 50 again merged with an Interstate (I-35), which sped me toward Kansas City. Soon I was in Missouri. Once I left behind the congestion of KC, the drive became quite pleasant. Missouri is a greener, hillier state than Kansas.

I stopped in Jefferson City at the state Capitol, which was unfortunately being renovated. It appears to be much larger than California’s Capitol. It strikes me that US 50 goes through four state capitals as well as the country’s capital. That seems to be a testament to how important the road was when it was originally designated.

I was enjoying the drive when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a Studebaker truck parked in a driveway. I stopped on the side of the road, and asked the two old guys sitting on the front porch of a tidy brick home whether they owned the truck. One of them (whose name turned out to be Roy) claimed ownership, and came down from his porch to show it off, opening the hood to reveal the small-block Chevy engine he had dropped into it. He had bought the truck about three years ago, and as he used to teach body work at the local technical school, he had no problem fixing up the truck. Roy retired 11 years ago, and when he isn’t working on his Studebaker, he’s sitting on his front porch with his friend Dean “counting cars as they pass.”

Studebaker owners’ motto: We’d rather fix than switch. (Youngsters can learn the reference here.)

Dean lives across the street, and after I had praised Roy’s Studebaker, Dean insisted that we go over to his place to check out his 1950 Chevy convertible. We walked over, and Dean pulled the car out of the enormous, warehouse-like garage so that I could see it in the sunlight. It was a beauty. He then invited me into the garage to see his other cars (3 or 4 of them, including a Mustang convertible).

After thanking Roy and Dean for the tour, I got back in the Yaris with a bit of embarrassment, and made the final leg of today’s trip, to Union, MO (just west of St. Louis).

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Day 4: Colorado and Kansas

February 7, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard2 Comments

OK, now as you know, I spent last night at my friend Detlef’s house about 2 hours north of US 50. He and I spent this morning four wheeling up an old RR right-of-way in the mountains outside of Boulder. The views were breathtaking. Here’s Detlef taking a photo of me taking a photo of him.

We returned home for lunch, where Detlef’s daughter Anna let me handle her pet boa constrictor:

Anyway, we had a great visit. Much fun to catch up after all those years. Special shout-out to Detlef’s lovely wife Nancy for her hospitality, and to his mom who is now living with them and who I enjoyed seeing again after about 40 years. OK, now back to the US 50 blog…

Day 4

I left Detlef’s house about 2 pm, and headed back down to reconnect with US 50 near Pueblo, CO, where I had started my detour yesterday. After getting out of Pueblo’s metro area, 50 returns to the straight, quiet, empty road that I’ve gotten used to. The landscape in this part of Colorado is mainly farms, cattle ranches, and scrub brush, periodically punctuated with small towns that feel like they once were reasonably prosperous, but which for years have been declining. Somehow they’re hanging on. Here are a few glimpses:

First up is the town of Fowler (pop: 517). I’m told the town was originally named Oxford, in honor of an ox that was killed on the railroad tracks. (I am not making this up.) The new name honors Orson Fowler, who was a phrenologist. It was the 1920s, after all. Anyway, I was struck by the faded stateliness of the Fowler bank.

Established 1931. (Which is not really an auspicious time for banking.)

Next, in the town of Canon City (pop: 16,000), the State Armory is boarded up. Canon City is of course a wonderful name for the city hosting an armory. But in 1975, the name was officially changed to Cañon City. Most signage still retains the original spelling.

Originally constructed in 1922, the armory still an imposing building. I phoned the number on a nearby sign that offered “information about this building.” There was no answer.

Below is an old school that also sits right on US 50. It’s evidently closed, like many other historic structures along this stretch of 50 in eastern Colorado.

A school two years ahead of the Covid curve

A number of buildings in these old towns still sport lettering that must date back almost a century.

I’m struck by some of the colorful names along the way. This creek supposedly is the source of the town’s water supply…

Shortly before leaving eastern Colorado, I came across this used car lot. All the cars are from the 1940s through the 1960s. There must be over 100 old cars, all with asking prices around $1,500 or $2,000. Which seems like a lot for a car with flat tires, cracked windshields, and in some cases, no hood.

Studebaker Wagonaire. Introduced in 1963, at the same time as the Jeep Wagoneer. Studebaker folded in 1966.

Just before I left Colorado behind and entered Kansas, I stopped for dinner at a restaurant called Porky’s Parlor. It’s a family-run place, with a drive-through for to-go orders. I was evidently the only person who decided to “dine in.”

Doesn’t appear to be the post popular restaurant in town

The menu on the wall must list 3 dozen options, including burgers, sandwiches, tacos, chili, and various other items. I asked the owner’s daughter, who was running the cash register, what she’d recommend. She told me that “everyone” gets the “pig burger.” Which makes one wonder why they have 35 other items on their menu. I dutifully took her advice, and was not disappointed.

Before getting back on the road, I made a trip to the restroom. There are two bathrooms (presumably for men and women, being that this is Binary Gender country.) Yet rather than having proper labels, the doors each had a picture of a pig. I am guessing that one was a boy pig and one was a girl pig, but there was really no way of distinguishing their gender. I chose the pig that seemed to have a more masculine face, but when I entered the room, it was clear from the, um, infrastructure that I’d guessed wrong. I quickly exited, and noted that the girl behind the counter was smirking. I think the androgenous pigs are part of a little joke they play on tourists.

It was now twilight, and 50 was feeling like America’s Loneliest Road. I was practically the only person driving it. There’s something very Zen about this. I find it comforting. The only distraction was the impossibly short telephone poles alongside the road. Seriously—I could have touched the wires if I didn’t want to get fried.

Looking back towards the west, the sun was setting. It was time to pull off the road for the day. I am literally the only person staying at the Hometown Inn in Lakin, KS.

Road trips · trains · Uncategorized

Day 3: Utah and Colorado

February 6, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard2 Comments

I set out this morning around 6:30 am. I stopped at the Green River Coffee Company (in Green River, Utah), which was just half a mile from my motel. The place was empty, but I heard someone rustling in the back kitchen. Eventually a lanky woman in her early 30s emerged, looking very much like a hippie from 1969. She was cheerful, and said “If you want coffee or breakfast” [why else would I have come there??] “you’ll have to wait a few minutes while my equipment wakes up.” I assured her I was in no hurry, and observed that it was indeed still early. “I must be your first customer” I astutely noted. The woman, whose name turned out to be Becky, explained to me that the place doesn’t actually open until 7, but she gets in at 6:30 to “wake up” her equipment. “I used to get here at 5:30, in order to do my online homework using the shop’s wifi. But now I can get internet service on my phone, so I do my homework in the morning before I leave.” It turns out she’s taking an online program through Oxford (supposedly the Oxford) in English literature. And she’s going to take an in-person class in England next summer. “I’m hoping to move there permanently.” I asked what would happen to the Green River Coffee Company. Does she own it? “No, I’m just the Coffee Wench.” Thanks for the coffee. Gotta go…

Green River Cafe. Note the equipment waking up.

US 50 is still part of I-70 heading east out of Green River, so the drive to the Colorado border was pretty fast and uneventful. Shortly after entering Colorado, I came to Grand Junction, where 50 once again breaks off from I-70. I was back on the familiar, undivided, quiet road that is US 50. It was like reuniting with an old friend. The road began twisting and climbing as I moved up into the Rockies, and I admit that there were moments when I questioned whether the Yaris was up to the task. I became especially nervous as I approached Monarch Pass (elevation: 11,312 feet) where there was even some snow on the ground. Somehow we managed to get over the hump, which, incidentally, is the Continental Divide. I know that doesn’t make the pass any harder to cross, but there’s something notable about crossing the Divide. It makes one feel like they’re leaving the West. Which I guess I was.

“On top of the world, Ma!” (Edward G. Robinson)

A short time later I came into the town of Salida (which the locals pronounce “suh-LIE-duh), and stopped at Soulcraft Brewing for a lunch stop. I had the Green Chile Ale, which was just the ticket on a warm day. I asked the bartender about food, and she directed me to the “food truck” outside next to the patio. This “food truck” is a “truck” the way that a mobile home is “mobile.” The food truck was really just a trailer, permanently built in place, and when I asked the gray-haired cook/owner about it she told me “this thing never moves. I don’t even have a truck that could move it.” I suspect Soulcraft is getting around some kind of restaurant license by calling this thing a “truck.” Anyway, the “truck” owner told me that this was now her restaurant — she used to own a regular brick and mortar restaurant in Denver, but then somehow she became the dean of a university. As one does. I asked her which university, and she muttered something about an online university. Somehow this didn’t quite pan out for her, so she recently quit the academic life and bought this “food truck.” I’ll say this much for her though: She makes a delicious homemade pasta dish. I had it with my beer, sitting on the patio in the sunshine. You really can’t beat that.

Green Chile Ale, with rootbound “food truck” in the background.

I got back onto US 50, with the Arkansas River and a small railroad line stretching along on my right. It was a very pretty and pleasant drive. Now, for the most part, this trip has not been about tacky, kitchy tourist attractions. Admittedly, I’ve made that the focus of some prior trips with Ian, such as our Route 66 trip. But this US 50 trip is meant to experience a more authentic part of America. I did slip once today, though, when I saw this giant beetle beckoning me to an insect museum. How could I say no??

In the mid-afternoon I hit Pueblo, Colorado, which marks the end of my US 50 journey for today. Upon arriving in Pueblo, I took a 2-hour detour up the interstate to see my old friend Detlef Kurpanek (yes, that’s his real name). Detlef and I were friends in middle school and high school, back in the 1970s. We both had an interest in trains, each had a model railroad, and we’d ride our bikes 10 miles to San Jose to watch the commuter trains come in from San Francisco. Detlef has been living with his wife Nancy in Aurora, CO for a couple of decades now. I’m staying at his house tonight, and I’ll return to US 50 tomorrow afternoon. I’m planning to make to the middle of Kansas tomorrow.

Cool old RR depot in Grand Junction CO — in honor of my visit to Detlef.

Road trips · trains · Uncategorized

Day 2: Nevada and Utah

February 5, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilardLeave a comment

I woke surprisingly refreshed this morning at the Cozy Mountain Motel, and took my bracing cold shower. While checking out, I noticed these displayed on the front counter like Russian nesting dolls. I decided to hurry on my way before they discovered any problems with my MasterCard payment…

I explored the town of Austin a bit more before getting back onto 50. I was struck by the number of abandoned buildings, completely untouched for decades. This is truly a ghost town.

1313 Mockingbird Lane meets Georgia O’Keeffe

As I mentioned yesterday, I resolved to get breakfast in the town of Eureka, about an hour down the road. So I got back onto US 50, which, if anything, was more deserted than yesterday. I’m getting used to the rhythm, though, and there’s a fullness to the emptiness, if that makes any sense. The sky is big, blue, and beautiful, and the landscape stretches out for miles and miles. Periodic US 50 signs confirm that I didn’t make a wrong turn somewhere, heading far off course.

I was quite hungry when I got to Eureka, and I found the Jackson Hotel (which supposedly has the amazing food) quite easily. It’s part of a complex of buildings on the main drag (which is, of course, US 50). I had trouble determining which door actually led to the restaurant, so I just entered a door that said “open” on it, hoping for the best. I found myself in a large auditorium of sorts that looked to be well over a century old. After a moment I was greeted by a middle-aged woman with a Farrah Fawcett hairdo who asked if she could help me. When I informed her I was just a tourist looking for a place to eat, she seized upon the opportunity to give me a guided tour of the building, which I learned was the Eureka Opera House.

It’s an impressive building that was originally built in 1880. My guide (whose name is Patty), it turns out, is the manager of the building, and is responsible for booking events (including concerts by Eddie Rabbit and Loretta Lynn’s daughter, among others. Their signed photos are on the wall.) She’s also responsible for setup, clean up, and everything else. Check out the old, original projectors that are down in the basement:

Patty is a bundle of energy, and wants nothing more than to promote the Opera House and the town of Eureka. After she gave me a tour of the Opera House, she took me across the street to the county courthouse, the jail, the assessors office, and other county offices. (These are housed in the historic courthouse, as well as a more modern annex.) For some reason, Patty has keys to all these offices, as well as several vaults. Here she is showing off the Treasurer’s vault:

I told Patty I was driving the full length of US 50, and she asked if I had the “passport” for the drive. I hadn’t heard of this at all, so she provided me with a copy. It turns out that it’s just for the towns along the Nevada stretch of US 50, and I had already passed most of those towns. But I took the passport, and she stamped it with the gusto of a customs official.

When I told her I’m writing a blog about my trip, she offered to take a picture of me in the judge’s chair in the courtroom.

Patty spend a full hour with me, and which point I was really ready for breakfast. I asked for a recommendation, and she referred me to the Pony Express Café. (It turns out that US 50 follows the old Pony Express trail in Nevada; I encountered numerous references to it along the way.) The Café is run by a couple of Amish women, who were warm and welcoming. It appears that the Café is where all the locals hang out, with plenty of conversation and back-slapping. In fact, while I was sitting at a table waiting for my breakfast, I felt a large hand grab my shoulder. I looked up and it was just some local greeting me, smiling and asking how I was doing. Is this a great town, or what? Oh, and I had the best “Amish Breakfast Sandwich” ever.

Refueled, I got back onto 50 and headed for Ely, Nevada. Ely is a famous railroad town, and a few miles before reaching Ely I saw plumes of black smoke next to the highway. It turns out a steam locomotive was operating – I still am not sure why. But there’s something wonderful about seeing this equipment, which must be from the 1930s or earlier, out in the wild, rather than at some museum. (Editor’s note: I later learned that, for a fee, regular shmoes like me can drive these vintage steam engines along a private track. Is this a great country, or what?)

Now that I had my official US 50 passport, I visited the Chamber of Commerce in Ely. The woman there stamped it with the “Ely” stamp, and commented that Patty sure had made a lot of stamps in my passport. Evidently there was some rivalry between the two towns, or these two women. I asked her what I should visit in Ely, and she said I should get a lime rickey from the old drug store down the street. I didn’t know what a lime rickey even is (didn’t he manage the Brooklyn Dodgers?), but I was game.

Upon arriving at the drug store I learned it had been at the same location since 1946, with the same soda fountain, same chairs, same stamped metal ceiling, etc. all those years. There were two young women working the fountain, and I ordered my lime rickey. Impressively, the two of them created this drink from scratch, which involved cutting and squeezing fresh limes. It turns out the woman on the right is 31, with a 3 year old, and she moved here from Las Vegas. She seems to really love Ely, and says it’s definitely a good place to be raising a young child. But she thinks in a few years she’s going to move out to Florida, where all her relatives currently reside. She reflected that Ely used to be a much bigger town, “before the mine closed.” It used to be a bustling town of almost 10,000 souls. “We even had a Sears!” I think she sees the writing on the wall.

After my lime rickey, I returned to the familiar ribbon of US 50. I left Nevada behind some time in the afternoon, entering Utah. I stopped for dinner in the town of Delta. There were two good prospects on the main drag; a diner and a motel “cafe.” It turns out the diner now serves only Chinese food, so I opted for the cafe. I was feeling a need for some greens, so I ordered a chef’s salad. It came with my choice of bread, and the waitress recommended I get the scone. It’s not like any scone I’ve ever seen:

Shortly after leaving Delta, US 50 becomes part of Interstate 70 for a bit. I was dreading this part of the trip, because I hadn’t been on an interstate since I’d left Sacramento and I was enjoying the freedom to drive on the empty, undivided, quiet roadway that is US 50. I could pull over whenever I wanted to see anything, and I could flip around whenever I needed to backtrack. So the idea of getting onto the interstate, and sharing it with semis, was not appealing.

However, it turns out that I-70 in Utah cuts through some of the most spectacular scenery I’ve seen. You wend your way around enormous carved mountains that are iconic in this area. Here’s an example, which somehow reminds me of a poop emoji.

So I actually enjoyed this part of the drive. Even travelling at 80 mph plus, the scenery simply dwarfs and overwhelms me. It’s a unique experience, and really places one in perspective.

I didn’t take many photos of this scenery, because an iphone camera just doesn’t do it justice. You really have to drive through it to appreciate it. But I did stop at the “ghost rock” viewing area in Emory, UT. There I ran into a solitary person who was taking a photo. She was probably in her 20s, and probably pregnant. (I knew better than to ask.) I noticed her SUV was packed to the gills with boxes and suitcases. I said that it looks like she’s moving somewhere. “Yes. New York.” From where? “San Francisco.” That was about the extent of our conversation, but after I got back in my car I wondered: Why is she taking this route? Wouldn’t Interstate 80 make more sense? What caused her to want to relocate all the way to the other side of the country? One theme I seem to keep running into on this trip is that everyone wants to be somewhere else.

I called a halt to today’s driving when I got to Green River, UT. Tomorrow it’s off to Colorado!

Road trips · Uncategorized

America’s Loneliest Road

February 4, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard1 Comment

The inspiration for this trip comes from the sign at the western terminus of US Route 50, in West Sacramento, which I have passed many a time over the years. The sign tantalizes me with the vision of “Ocean City, MD 3,073” miles away.

Day 1

My US 50 trip began early this morning with a flight from LAX to Sacramento, where I picked up my rental car. Now, many people had urged me to rent a “fun” car for this trip. And I thought about that. But in my normal, everyday life I drive a “fun” car, and this trip is about connecting with the “backbone of America,” not blasting across the country in luxurious, steel cocoon surrounding me with infotainment options and various gadgets.

So I’m driving a Toyota Yaris. And not just any Yaris, but a no-frills Yaris. I know you think that’s redundant, but there are actually blank plastic plugs in the dash where available options –like power mirrors, cruise control, or even FM radio – might go in the “loaded” version. I’ll say this much for it: The car won’t be distracting me from the sights the US 50.

My first stop was on the side of the freeway where eastbound Interstate 80 branches north, leaving, as the straight part of the branch, the beginning of US 50 . (The photo below was taken just before I was almost hit by a drifting truck.)

“Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me…”

After narrowly escaping a Peterbilt’s front grille, I hopped back in the Yaris and headed east on US 50. The first half hour of driving was old hat. I’ve driven that stretch of US 50 many, many times. But after passing Placerville, I moved beyond my usual haunts and drove on pavement I haven’t experienced too many times. You can feel the metropolis of Sacramento, and the poor air quality of the central valley, melt away as you head into the foothills. It’s a very freeing feeling. Every time I’ve driven out towards Tahoe in the past, I’ve told myself I should do this more often. But somehow I almost never have found the time. Until now.

As I wended up towards the Sierra, I spotted the South Fork of the American River. It’s just beautiful this time of year.

I encountered a couple of abandoned buildings. Maybe the economic recovery hasn’t caught up with this part of California? I love how the “restaurant” sign was painted freehand, almost as an afterthought. And I doubt that parking meter has seen a coin since Buffalo nickels went out of fashion. Land out here is so cheap that buildings just stand vacant for years, and some eventually just crumble. I’ll rejoin this theme in a few paragraphs, when I describe the motel room I’m writing this from right now….

After a bit more driving I re-encountered civilization at South Lake Tahoe. And then, in the blink of an eye, I left California behind. A few buildings greeted me as I entered Nevada, but it was a half-hearted greeting. Unlike Reno or Vegas, Stateline, NV barely tries to entice gamblers from California. You just pass a faded casino or two, and then the town disappears. The vast expanse of Nevada beckons, interrupted by only a couple of cities. One is Carson City, the State Capital. I made a brief visit to the Capitol building. It’s a contrast to California’s, not only in terms of architecture, but also to the paucity of visitors, employees, and legislators. I suppose when your entire state’s population is only about 3 million souls, there’s no need for major legislative activity.

The last town of any size at all I went through today was Fallon (pop: 8,606). I stopped for dinner at Jerry’s Diner, which has supposedly been “a Fallon original since 1966.” (I learned later, though, that it’s now owned by the same people who own Black Bear Diner, so I inadvertently violated my “no restaurant chains” rule for this trip.)

My waitress was very authentic and friendly, though. She saw me consulting my Rand McNally atlas at the table and asked me about my trip. It turns out that she is from Sacramento, and has noticed the same US 50 sign and wondered about Ocean City, MD as well. But here in Fallon is as far as she ever got. She’s raising an 11 year old, and hopes that, after he’s graduated from high school, she can do some travelling. By which she means getting an hour or two out of Fallon.

After leaving Fallon, I became one of the few people remaining on the highway. It’s this stretch of US 50 that earned the moniker “America’s Loneliest Road.”

In an hour I passed only a handful of cars. And I was covering lots of ground in that hour — about 90 miles, actually. (You do the math.) At one point I looked down and the speedometer showed 100 mph. I had no idea the Yaris could move that fast. But you just don’t feel the speed out here. Partly it’s because there are almost no landmarks to highlight your speed. And partly it’s because the road surface is flat, straight, and in good shape. Evidently Nevada takes much better care of its roads than California does. Someone once told me that Nevada doesn’t have speed limits, which is demonstrably false, because I saw signs posted with a 70 mph limit. I’ve also heard that, even if there are limits in Nevada, they aren’t enforced. I hope I don’t encounter evidence to the contrary.

I ended today’s leg of my US 50 journey in the town of Austin, NV (pop: 192), at the base of the Toiyabe range. There’s something very eerie about this town, which alternately feels abandoned and haunted. The first thing you see, high up on a hill as you enter the town on US 50, is an ancient stone tower. A short drive up this hill reveals the tower to be something called Stokes Castle, which was constructed by a silver and railroad magnate named Anton Phelps Stokes in 1897. After completion, it was only inhabited for a couple of months, and has been vacant ever since. As you can see, even the local kids have been afraid to spray graffiti on it for over a century.

Complementing the sense of doom and abandonment, just a short hike from Stokes Castle, is a Civil War-era cemetery. I walked the cemetery for awhile, and not a single car passed by on US 50. All was silent except for a faint rustling of the leaves in the trees.

Some of the only residents I encountered along America’s Loneliest Highway.

Now, you should know that, back in Fallon, I had phoned the “Cozy Mountain Motel” in Austin to make reservations for the night. I knew nothing about this place, other than it had a vacancy. When I turned into the driveway, right off US 50, this is what greeted me:

When I checked in, I asked the desk clerk what was up with the skeleton on the front bench. Without missing a beat, she said “he’s been waiting for the shower in his room to get hot.” I told her I didn’t get it, and she looked down and muttered “you will.”

I suspect tomorrow’s shower will be bracing.

Until then, I’m going to try to get some shut-eye. Here in this doomed town.